Soaring


The line is lit on a stick of dynamite.
The flame is moving for the blastoff.

A plane on the runway is ready for takeoff.
Flaps, wheels, speed, ready for elevation.

In just a few seconds, it will be airborne.
In a few minutes, it will be above the clouds.

The eagle is restless in the lowlands.
Her only satisfaction is in the heights.

On mountain tops, she listens to the winds.
It is there that she pleasures in soaring.

There was one that time seemed to pass by.
Opportunities and success would not ignite.

And it seemed that he would never take flight.
Daylight, all around m; but he only saw night.

I knew a gentleman like all the above.
His name was Billie Bob Moody. He was
Never content until releasing his love.
He dreamed of nesting on mountain tops.
Never was satisfied unless he was soaring.

From south to North and back south again.
From south to west, overlooking the Pacific.
He loved the weather and the people there.
Some people leave their hearts in San Francisco.
But San Francisco was where he found his heart.

For 17 years, he dreamed, learned, planned.
The next 12 years?  Hills, valleys, lowlands.
Like the eagle, contentment means soaring.
He stayed west and soared for 43 years.

For years he forgot the words of his father.
"I'm going west where eagles build their nests."
When he remembered, he felt good inside.
Like an old eagle, he's happily retired; but now
Back in the south, deep inside, he's still soaring.

dreamfree verse

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